


One Into Seven

by MelMarie



Category: Monsterkind (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Gen, Loss, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelMarie/pseuds/MelMarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed like a good idea at the time, but, then again, Ben could always find a way to rationalize the need to drink those memories and thoughts away. He had gone out for a distraction, but only ended up stewing in his own grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Into Seven

The whole room was buzzing. Everything was fuzzy, including the sound of the alarm clock ringing out. The figure lying facedown in the bed could do nothing but blink slowly. Everything was a haze.

He could hardly remember venturing out to the bar the evening before; sour thoughts and feelings provided each step he took with a sense of purpose. As much as he tried not to, he couldn't help but remember the touch of her skin, the scent of her hair, the way she laughed, and how every day with her brought meaning into his life.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but, then again, Ben could always find a way to rationalize the need to drink those memories and thoughts away. He had gone out for a distraction, but only ended up stewing in his own grief.

Each time the bottle left his lips and hit the counter with a thud, he'd only felt worse. He had convinced himself that he'd start to feel better. "Just one more," he mumbled to himself. "Just one more and it'll be over."

The one more turned into seven, and he'd come no closer to any sort of release from the memories haunting him. Things went downhill fast, and without even realizing it, he began to weep. The bartender could do nothing for him. He'd gotten used to this sort of thing, but had no means of offering any sort of assistance.

Eventually, after muffled words and choked up stories, Ben took his leave and stumbled home.

When he arrived at his apartment, he greeted his wife as usual, taking a brief moment to lament that she could no longer return the greeting herself. He moved through the home, careful not to disturb anything in its rightful place, and eventually found his way to the bedroom.

Ben decided the best he could do was remove his shoes before allowing himself to collapse on his bed. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes filled the sheets as they billowed out around him. It was a soothing scent, and one of few things that brought him comfort.

He laid there in silence for only a moment, staring at the empty side of the bed. Maybe this was the night she'd finally come back. He would blink, and there she would appear: safe, smiling, alive.

It felt as if he'd only just closed his eyes when the alarm clock began to ring out. The night was a blur in his mind, the air stale with the smell of smoke.

That morning Ben awoke as usual. Still tired. Still alone.


End file.
